Zoe Vught Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Breda

So, findin’ a prossie—where dost thou start? Down by the docks, methinks, where sailors swap shillings fer skirts. Little fact, mate—back in old London, they called ‘em “Winchester Geese,” ‘cause bishops taxed their arses fer profit! Ain’t that a kicker? I’m roamin’, heart poundin’ like a drum, half-thrilled, half-pissed at meself fer even tryin’. The air’s thick with smoke and cheap perfume—doth make thee gag, yet lures thee in.

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So, I’m strolling down the Kerkstraat, right? Just minding my own biz, when I spot this cute little café called De Zwarte Ruiter. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna grab a coffee there? I walk in, and the smell of fresh pastries hits me like a brick wall. I’m like, “Yesss!” But then, I see the line. Ugh. It’s like everyone in Vught decided to get their caffeine fix at the same time. I’m standing there, tapping my foot, thinking, “C’mon, people! I got places to be!”

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